


The Tempest We've Become

by MeetTheRoyalMess



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Flawed characters, Friends to Lovers, I'm Sorry, I'm serious about the angst, Language, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Squip, they do their best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2020-11-08 15:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20837858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeetTheRoyalMess/pseuds/MeetTheRoyalMess
Summary: Michael foolishly believes that he can ignore the tension wrought through his body forever. It’s not that hard at first. After all, this is supposed to be the perfect ending for everyone involved in the SQUIP incident. Jeremy is dating Christine, Rich is free of the glorified SD card, Jake and Jenna both have people who support them unconditionally, Chloe and Brooke don’t masquerade around, Christine has herself sorted out (mostly—they’re still teenagers after all), and Michael…Michael got his best friend back and gained some new ones along the way. It’s all wrapped up in a neat—perfect—package.So why does Michael feel like this?~~~(or, in which Michael and Jeremy try rebuilding their relationship after everything that's gone down, but both soon learn that a fresh start is the only way to do so.)





	1. Equinox Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! Thanks for reading. I really hope you enjoy! Also, there's a lot of angst. So I mean this with all sincerity when I say: if you don't like it, then this isn't for you. I’m sorry if that makes me sound bad :/ I promise there will be a pay off but there's a lot of things that need to be worked through :)

Most people say oblivion consists of pure unadulterated darkness, but sitting in between four walls of creamy white, really disproves this fact to Michael. Everything in the room is a stark white—the ceiling, the floor, the blankets, the machines, all of it is drowning in various pigments of the same exact color. Michael swears the walls get a few millimeters closer every time he looks up, as if they’re preparing to swallow him whole.

He’s been in this hospital for far too long.

His gaze inevitably travels to the person lying before him. Jeremy’s greasy brown curls fall over his closed eyes; it’s the first time he’s seen Jeremy so discomposed in months. He’s pale, paler than normal, with bruises brushed underneath fluttering lashes and freckles blatant on his nose and cheeks. If Michael strains enough he can hear soft breaths escaping his parted lips. Overall, Jeremy appears frail and small—a semblance of the scrawny nerd that he used to be, curled up on a bean bag in Michael’s freezing basement.

He’s not the Jeremy he once was, yet Michael remains as loyal as ever. (It’s only at night after Michael’s gone home and there’s no one else around that he lets his mind wander to the question:  _ why? _ Why is he so attached to the image of a person who doesn’t truly exist anymore? Even if that version of Jeremy can be reobtained, Michael knows that it will forever be lined with the creases of betrayal. But it’s not evening yet, so Michael doesn’t dwell on it any more than he has to.)

“Every time I wake up you’re literally in the exact same place, Headphones.”

Michael flinches, feeling the familiar buzz of anxiety beneath his skin. Well now would be a great time to be swallowed.

“Dude, chill,” Rich chuckles. Michael isn’t quite sure why there’s a sudden lisp in Rich’s speech, but he has a gut feeling that the fried computer chip in his skull had something to do with it. “Sorry I scared you.”

Michael still has yet to turn around. “It’s…all good.”

Rich snorts. “I don’t think anything can be ‘all good’ in a hospital.”

Michael forces his taunt muscles to twist towards Rich, lounging in his hospital bed like all the time in the world is his for the taking. Shadowy eye bags rest above his cheekbones and small crinkles appear around his glazed eyes. Michael has never once seen him this vulnerable.

“Yeah,” Michael croaks. “I guess you’re right.”

Rich sighs and melts into his (very  _ white _ ) pillows, eyes slipping closed. “He’s lucky to have you,” he whispers.

Something inside Michael’s chest cracks as he turns back towards his best friend. He pinches his bottom lip between a finger and his thumb as he mumbles, “Maybe.”

“No, seriously,” Rich’s voice is softer than he’s ever heard it, yet it carries the same amount of passion as it always has. “If I had a friend like you, I don’t think I would have needed that damn hunk of metal put in my brain in the first place.”

_ Jeremy obviously doesn’t feel that way. _

Michael digs his nails into his lip and furrows his brow. That’s not a train of thought he wants to continue down for now so he blatantly ignores it. “Well…” Michael mulls his next words.

Rich’s whole demeanor seems so much softer than before. Granted, this is also the kid who used to torment him on almost a daily basis, so it isn’t exactly like he’s suddenly been redeemed in Michael’s mind. Yet he pities the boy. He pities his former bully and still finds it emotionally demanding to completely forgive his best friend. Appalling, truly.

“If you’re done acting like a total dick then maybe we could be friends.” That was vague enough to show his distrust while at the same time offering an olive twig (he doesn’t think a full-blown branch is appropriate quite yet).

Rich barks out a laugh. “Fair enough.”

Michael stands quickly, itching to sprint from the hospital room before the air could fill with the pressure of further conversation. “I’m going to walk around for a minute. You want me to get you something from the vending machine?”

“Nope,” Rich pops the ‘p’ obnoxiously.

Michael rolls his eyes and shoves his hands in his pockets before strolling out the door.

He roams the halls for the better part of an hour.

When he returns, Jeremy is sitting up, pale white fists clenched into his sheets.

Michael smiles, as genuine as he can with emptiness gnawing through his chest.

* * *

  
  


Michael foolishly believes that he can ignore the tension wrought through his body forever. It’s not that hard at first. After all, this is supposed to be the perfect ending for everyone involved in the SQUIP incident. Jeremy is dating Christine and has friends, Rich is free of the glorified SD card, Jake and Jenna both have people who support them unconditionally, Chloe and Brooke don’t masquerade around, Christine has herself sorted out (mostly—they’re still teenagers after all), and Michael…Michael got his best friend back and gained some new ones along the way. It’s all wrapped up in a neat— _ perfect _ —package.

Michael and Jeremy resume their friendship almost like nothing ever happened. And Michael realizes this is exactly what he wanted, exactly what he spent so many sleepless nights hoping for. Yet there’s still this twitching in the back of his mind that insists that this is  _ wrong _ . But this is what forgiveness means, yeah? Everything will go back to the way it was and eventually his emotions will follow suit.

_ _

He’ll tie his broken pieces into a nice bow and set it atop that pristine little package. Michael will stretch across the chasm he’s created in his heart and reach towards Jeremy.

_ _

_ Just pretend nothing is wrong. _

All he has to do is  _ pretend nothing is wrong. _

* * *

Jeremy is lounging in the booth across from Michael, taking up only the right half of the seat when he says, “Dude, you know you can tell me if something is bothering you, right?”

The air is completely sucked from his lungs as he spares a glance at Jeremy. His blue eyes are dull in the harsh lighting from the uncovered bulb hovering above them and there’s a small crevice between his brows and a pinch in his mouth, a very odd look if anyone were to ask Michael.

Michael’s grip on the plastic menu tightens as he tears his gaze back to the obnoxious vintage font. He knows the menu by heart at this point seeing as he’s come to this place since he was little (that and the fact that almost every 50s style diner has the  _ exact same menu _ . But hey, at least they have bomb ass milkshakes.) The bright walls with glittering red accents constrict around him and his hands twitch.

“Yeah, of course I do,” Michael shrugs, hoping that the turmoil between his ribs will subside with the motion. “Nothing’s wrong though so stop worrying about me and start worrying about the fact that your fly is down—hey, Christine!”

Jeremy yelps, frantically looking over his shoulder and down in his lap before freezing at Michael’s cackle. “You—!” He throws a straw at him and Michael’s laughter reaches hysterics, the world briefly returning everything to where it should be.

Michael wants to remember this every time the tightness in his stomach returns. He wants to trap this moment in a bottle and keep it tucked tight against his chest—keep it warm and fresh and just as lovely. He can’t though. So that dreaded emptiness bleeds like watercolor into every interaction, every text, every smile, until eventually nothing will be left untainted. Lucky for him, this moment remains in blissful black and white. And he intends to keep it that way.

* * *

If you keep pretending it doesn’t hurt it will go away.

If you keep telling everyone else everything is great it will go away.

If you keep everything buried it won’t matter and_ it_ _will go away_.

Michael is an expert in lying to himself. But he knows better than anyone that sooner or later, he will explode.

Maybe the walls closing in on him, will be enough to save the masses from such a carnage.  _ Maybe it’ll be enough to only destroy himself. _  
  


* * *

When an individual wants to block out the whole world, forget who they are, even if it’s only for the most dwindling of moments, they have their own channel in which they use to become something beyond themselves. That channel could be something they found as simply as going for a walk—a way to float freely throughout the cosmos with a mind as vast and blank and dark as the sky—or it could be something that is fought for—a tunnel dug with dirt caked hands and broken fingernails simply to find paradise.

Michael happens to be in the latter group. He has a burrow that’s 10 years long and an anxiety riddled mind wide. But he’s oddly proud of it. It’s so easy to get disoriented, to lose your way forever in the endless maze of mud and bedrock, for Michael to find the end is a miracle.

But he got there, dirt splattered with cracked and bloodied hands, worn clothing and grinning like there’s no tomorrow. He was rewarded with a plain white pair of headphones, grey letters marking each side as ‘L’ and ‘R’, perfect for covering his ears and allowing whatever melody or rhythm to carry him far, far away from this earth.

Unfortunately for Michael, the notes tickling his ear drums could only take him a certain distance; a distance that would not allow him to escape the dull nails of betrayal hammering into his chest one by one.

Granted, Michael knows that being left behind by the one and only person he has ever called friend can’t exactly be remedied with a good bassline. Michael also knows that since everything is over, and that person has returned to him with the proper number of genuine apologies and groveling, he’s supposed to be over it.

A few weeks have passed since Jeremy was released from the hospital and on the surface, everything has returned to normal. Up where the sun shines and other people dwell, Michael crinkles his eyes to make smiles look real and puts all his energy into forcing his body to laugh (he doesn’t want to ruin his chances of becoming actual friends with the people who happened to burst into his and Jeremy’s lives nor his chances of rekindling his friendship with best friend of 12 years).

But every day the sun grows harsher upon his sensitive skin and he finds himself crawling with molten muscles back into his den, where he can smoke and chase his high while idly responding to whatever messages pop up on his phone. The number of times he hears his phone chime has significantly increased over time. And while each sound serves as a faint tinkling of ‘ _ You are loved _ ’, Michael slips on his headphones (no sound is playing; Michael doesn’t need much more than the muted white noise to escape) with a quiet sigh and taps his pencil against the desk, the college-grade algebra glaring back at him. He’s apparently not getting this done any time soon if his rampaging thoughts had anything to say about it.

He just…doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand how Jeremy can move on and pretend like nothing happened, to treat him almost the exact same way he did before that stupid pill-bitch invaded his brain. Michael knows that Jeremy hasn’t forgotten, the newly occupied seats at their lunch table and small hand snuggly in his grip serves as a reminder of different times. And yet…

_ Bzzt. _

Michael’s pencil freezes midair and he slowly peeks at the offending device resting innocently on the desk. With trembling hands, he checks the notification.

_ <  _ ** _Jeremyyyy: do you kno how to do #4???? chris and i are stuck on it :[[_ ** _ > _

_ _

The short— _ rational _ —answer to his question is: no, he does not know how to do problem number-fucking-four.

The answer his heart churning with turmoil wants to give is:  _ why, why, why can’t I not let this go. I’ve forgiven you and you’ve been my best friend for so long, but it hurts so bad. You hurt me so bad and I don’t know what to do about it, please help me please please— _

_ _

<  ** _no. sorry_ ** **.** >

Fuck.

<  ** _Jeremyyyy: …you ok dude? _ ** >

_ Fuck _ .

Michael let his phone slip clumsily from his fingers and knock onto the harsh wood beneath it. He can’t do this. He can’t. He can’t act like everything is normal. God, he knows Jeremy is only asking for help on homework at the moment, but it feels  _ wrong, damnit _ . It feels so wrong to talk to his best friend like he normally would, and it makes no sense.

The sheet rock around him shifts closer, confining Michael to his chair and stealing his air. His lungs burn. He’s trapped and he can’t escape. Mercury fills his bronchioles. There’s nothing. The cold fingers of panic trail up his neck. Nothing except for the clawing sting of tears and sounds of his gasps coming through his headphones. He can’t he can’t he  _ can’t _ . He can’t fucking do this anymore.

Michael stumbles to his feet in a blind search for his keys. His head feels like it’s been dunked in the depths of the ocean. Every cell in his brain expands to triple its size and presses against the inside of his skull and only by the purest instinct is he able to make it past his front door and into the night.

He isn’t sure how his legs manage to push through the waves of emotion to carry him to Jeremy’s house, even less sure of how they got his arms to coordinate in order to pull himself onto the roof extension above his porch. All he knows is that he’s kneeling and tapping on Jeremy’s window—kinda like he used to do when he was younger and begging for entrance with frostbitten fingers after sneaking out of his own house. Then Jeremy is there, standing on the other end of the pane of glass, staring with wide blue eyes as the yellow glow of his lamp lights his mussed curls. His lips move in a semblance of Michael’s name, he thinks, before opening the window.

“What the hell—”

“I can’t do this anymore, Jeremy,” Michael blurts.

Jeremy’s eyebrows scrunch as he visibly fishes for some sort of reply. “I, uh, what?”

“I can’t,” Michael feels bile creep into his throat from his heaving chest. “I can’t keep pretending nothing happened.”

Jeremy blinks, for once he is completely still, Michael isn’t sure if he’s even breathing. His eyes turn dull and glassy as his shoulders slacken and his upper lip twitches. “Oh,” he breathes. “I thought…I thought that…”

“I know you got your girl and popularity or whatever, but the thing is…you did all of that without me in your life. You didn’t even want me. And I know we made up. I know that everything is supposed to be okay now. But I…I don’t know.” Michael tries to release some of the pressure in his lungs by letting out a breath. It doesn’t work. It only makes the white-hot fist of iron around his heart clench tighter.

“O-okay,” Jeremy murmurs.

Michael trembles from the weight on his shoulders. “I think…I think I need space from you, I don’t know.  _ Shit _ , Jeremy, I don’t know. I  _ don’t fucking know _ .” The build-up of moisture behind Michael’s eyes finally springs loose in large founts of tears rolling down his face. “ _ Idon’tknow Idon’tknow Idon’tknow.” _

_ _

There’s a sniffle. “Michael, I’m—”

“Please,” Michael’s voice cracks. “We’re not…I don’t…I  _ can’t _ .”

The breeze hits the taunt skin of Michael’s knuckles and even that is enough to make him want to scream but his voice isn’t working anymore, all the words dying before they had the chance to take form on his tongue.

“I…I want to argue,” Jeremy says, steel shining through his voice. “I want to argue with you  _ so fucking bad _ , even though I know it’s not going to do anything but make this worse. I don’t want to stress you out more and—” he gives a watery chuckle (and it’s only then that Michael sees the tears in Jeremy’s eyes) “I don’t want to lose you.”

_ ‘I don’t want to lose you either.’ _

“It’s okay,” Jeremy soothes weakly.

_ Just say it, Michael. _

_ _

“It’s okay, I promise.”

_ Say it. _

“I understand.”

_ Say it, damnit! _

“So, if you don’t have anything more to say—"

_ I have so much I need to say. _

“—then please get home safely.”

_ But I  _ ** _can’t._ **

“We’ll talk on your terms. I won’t bother you, I promise.”

_Stop promising me._ _Please._

“I’ll…see you tomorrow.”

_ No, please… _

_ _

“Goodbye, Michael.”

_ Please don’t say goodbye for good. _

The window gliding shut barely registers in Michael’s ears, yet the sound pounds inside his skull the entire walk home. It’s only when his head hits the pillow that Michael really knows what’s happening inside his chest.

His stomach churns in a hurricane of guilt, bile coming in harsh waves up his throat; his heart, however, feels the same relief as his lungs would after being deprived of air.

Michael  _ shatters _ .


	2. Solstice Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! This chapter is longer than the first but a lot shorter than the original draft I had (thank you for being my impulse control, my dear friend and editor). But yeah!
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE: This chapter does have a scene where someone has an anxiety attack. It's a very important part but if you want a summary of what happens, just let me know :) Take care of yourself please <3
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Jeremy thought that the SQUIP incident would make the demotion from ‘best friend’ to ‘friend’ much easier. After all, Jeremy had gone without even seeing Michael for _months_. But that had been a different time; one where he didn’t have any spare moments to think about the effects of his actions or have thoughts that were truly his own (and when they were, _god_, were they muddled and quiet and immediately silenced). It’s no longer the SQUIPed version of himself that isn’t seeing Michael, it’s the version of himself that sat on the top of the playground all those years ago, staring through tear-filled eyes into the face of the first person who asked for his name and seeing him _smile_. That is who closed the window in Michael’s face.

That is who Jeremy crams into the deepest crevice of his mind in order to smile politely across the lunch table every. Single. Fucking. Day.

Being with a new set of friends and having a girlfriend, honestly helps. Loosely entwined fingers and a smooth thumb pad running across the back of his hand is what keeps him grounded, makes the upward curve of his lips easier and more genuine.

Jeremy has so much to be happy about and he is happy, most of the time, at least. Then he catches a glimpse of that faded red hoodie with a forever growing collection of patches. Jeremy sees how relaxed the muscles in shoulders are, the bounce in his step, the lightness of every word he says, and the lump in Jeremy’s chest _burns_.

The hollow knot of words he wants to say only grows by the day, pulsing and aching and screaming to be released.

But Jeremy can’t.

Michael needs this.

Maybe Jeremy needs it too.

So, the days turn into weeks without any contact with his (former) best friend besides the occasional stilted small talk. The stupid overused phrases of “_how’s school been?_” or “_what have you been up to lately?_” force themselves past Jeremy’s lips instead of “_how are you doing?_” or “_please just tell me something, _anything _damnit!_”

But Jeremy can’t.

Most of his weekends that had once been spent in Michael’s frigid basement, huddling together in front of a screen with bloodshot eyes, now are spent in the comfort of Christine’s bedroom, painted in warm pastels and fluffy furnishings. His girlfriend always knows how to get him chuckling with her antics and his heart pounding with lips pressing against his cheek or fingers interlaced with his. (Her fingers are always cold, for some reason.)

It’s one evening, several months after the night Michael showed up at his window, where Christine is neatly tucked into the crook of his arm as they lounge on his bed, she asks, “What happened with you and Michael?”

Jeremy tries his hardest not to stiffen but his muscles pull taunt at the mention of his best friend (_former_ best friend, his brain helpfully supplies.) “Uh, nothing. We just…I don’t know. Drifted, I guess. After the whole, um, thing.”

Christine cranes her neck to peek at his face, but Jeremy can’t bring himself to meet her eyes.

_ <strike>Jeremy can’t bring himself to do a lot of things.</strike> _

She hums and nuzzles Jeremy’s chest with her cheek, tearing her gaze away and back to the long-forgotten movie. She doesn’t say anything else on the matter. Christine never brings it up again. And for that, Jeremy is grateful.

He doesn’t know exactly _why _he hasn’t told his own girlfriend about what happened with Michael. Of all people, she rightfully should have been the first person he turned to. But he didn’t, he _doesn’t_. The subject only seems to make the knot in his chest pull tighter, even after the tissue started to grow around it, making it just as permanent as any other organ embedded inside him.

Jeremy wants to talk about this ache in his torso to someone, anyone—no, fuck that. He wants to talk to _Michael_. But the urge to do so slightly lessens each day. It’s becoming _normal_ for them not to communicate daily and never hang out outside of school. It’s _normal _for Michael Mell and Jeremy Heere to not face the world together, with only each other and some weed. It’s _normal_ for Michael to not be an active participant in Jeremy’s life. And this new “normal” scares the shit out of Jeremy.

Jeremy wants nothing more than to cry and throw the largest tantrum known to man screaming, “_Just give me my best friend back!_” He shakes under the sheer pressure pushing against his lungs and he aches to let it go free, after months of keeping it under wraps.

But Jeremy can’t.

So, Jeremy doesn’t.

And life does what it always does: it goes on.

* * *

There are nights where the gaping hole dug into his chest is filled to the brim with rawness. It claws its way into his stomach, swirling there so fiercely it forced dry heaves from his throat. The speaker from his ancient phone presses to his ear.

_“Hey Jere! I, uh, can’t find you? I saw Christine and Jake, but you weren’t with her and like hell I’m going to approach a football player. Um, yeah. I’m just worried something happened with the tic tac or whatever. Anyways. Let me know if you’re okay, please?”_

Listening doesn’t quite make it better. It actually adds an ache that seeps deep into his ligaments and hardens in his blood vessels. God, Jeremy’s whole existence is turned on its axis and his head won’t stop spinning.

He presses play again.

And again.

And again.

Until he can finally convince himself that everything is back to where it’s supposed to be.

* * *

“What do you want for dinner, son?”

Jeremy blinks, one shoe dangling half-way off his foot as he freezes in the doorway. Unfortunately for Jeremy’s dad, Jeremy’s brain suddenly gathers all the memory files full of food names and chunks it out of his ear, leaving him with a completely blank slate. “Uh,” Jeremy toes his shoes off completely. “I dunno.”

Jeremy’s dad huffs out a laugh and says, “Well lucky for you, I’m making some good ole fashioned mac and cheese!”

The corners of Jeremy’s lips quirk up as he nods and shuffles up the stairs to his room. He swings his backpack off his shoulder and plops into his desk chair with a sigh. Did he really want to do his homework? Absolutely not. But did he have anything better to do besides mindlessly stare at his reading assignment? Nope.

Christine is auditioning for a musical being put on by their community theater, Jenna is helping her (Jeremy offered to help but Christine waved him off in favor of “girl time”), Brooke is shopping, Chloe is with Brooke (Jeremy would much rather not go shopping with them _ever again_), Jake is at a sports practice (or something; Jeremy isn’t quite sure), and Rich has a research paper due the next day that he has yet to start on. So that leaves Jeremy to spend his evening trying desperately to keep his mind quiet.

**You know it’s because they don’t like you_._**

The echo of the SQUIP’s voice bounces in Jeremy’s self-dug canyon of regrets. No matter how far he runs, no matter how high he climbs, the voice follows. Sometimes it’s quieter than others, he can truly focus on trying to find his way out—then others it becomes so overwhelmingly loud not even his dirt-caked hands can keep his ears from ringing.

**You’ll never get rid of me.**

Today is one of those days.

“Jeremy! Come eat!”

Jeremy lets out a breath and runs a hand down his face. His fingers drop to his threadbare pocket and curl around the cold exterior of his phone. He lets his gaze fall to the screen in his lap. No notifications.

Despite himself, Jeremy unlocks the phone and begins to type in a long-forgotten chat log.

** _< hi i’m really sorry about this but i just really need a distraction or something right now. i don’t know what to do anymore and i really would appreciate someone to talk to…i just really mi— >_ **

** **

“Jeremy? You okay?” Jeremy’s dad’s voice is nearer now. He’s probably at the bottom of the stairs.

“Yeah, Dad,” Jeremy says, eyes still glued to the unfinished message. The letters swim together into a jumbled heap of nonsense, mocking him for being unable to complete what he had started. But he had promised, hadn’t he?

His thumb roughly pressed down on the back-space button and he exited out of the app before locking his phone. With the device safely back in his pocket, Jeremy stood and began his trek down the stairs to the kitchen.

Jeremy drops into the chair across from his father, immediately digging into his dinner without a word.

He can feel his dad observing him. “You sure you’re okay, sport?”

Jeremy gives a soft smile, heart warming up as he looks his father in the eye. “Yeah, I am. But stop calling me ‘sport’, it makes you sound like Gatsby or something,” Jeremy teases lightly.

His dad laughs and grumbles a reply as he scoops a heinous amount of pasta in his mouth.

Even though there’s a light sting in his heart—which Jeremy is certain will always be there—Jeremy is very proud that this time, when he said he was okay, he didn’t have to lie.

* * *

The end of junior year completely blindsides Jeremy. He gets home from his last day of school, hangs with Christine for a while, says goodbye to Christine, has dinner with his dad, settles to play a few games, and it finally hits him when he shuts the bathroom door to shower that the school year is completely over. All of it flew by, it seems. He feels like he could divide the entire year into three times he had blinked.

Jeremy gets the SQUIP.

Blink one. Open.

Jeremy is set free of said SQUIP.

Blink two. Open.

Jeremy is shutting the window in a crying Michael’s face.

Blink three. Open.

The rest of his junior year is behind him.

Granted, blink three seemed to drag on the longest, like he had been taking his time to soak everything in before opening up to face the world. But by the time he had done so, a majority of his third year in high school had passed him by. And that thought scared him absolutely _shitless._ Now Jeremy is faced with all the questions that a high school senior “should know” according to the American school system.

According to them, he’s supposed to know what he wants to do with the rest of his life at the ripe age of 17. Is he going to go to college? If so, which one? What will his major be? If he chooses not to, will he get a job? What job will he get? Will he move out or stay with his dad?

What will he do, what will he do, _what is he supposed to fucking do?_

Jeremy takes a steadying breath and looks at himself in the bathroom mirror. The words “everything is going to be okay” spill from his lips like prayers. He wills the words to be true. He hopes beyond hope that they are true.

**You and I both know that it isn’t okay.**

Jeremy clenches the counter until he feels his nails start to bend against the harsh granite. The cold claws of panic latch onto his lungs and acid drips into his stomach. Jeremy’s head spins at the sheer volume of the SQUIP’s voice. No. The loudest voice is his, the loudest voice is his, the loudest voice is _his_ damnit!

**There’s a reason you needed me in the first place, Jeremy.**

Jeremy grits his teeth until they creak, keeping his tears from leaking out of the corners of his eyes. _You’re wrong._

**Am I?** the SQUIP taunts. **You think that you can be satisfied just because you’re dating your precious Christine? It doesn’t change the fact that you are _worthless_ without me.**

Jeremy can vaguely feel the dampness of his own cheeks through the fiery buzz beneath his skin. He doesn’t know when he squeezed his eyes closed but he’s grateful he doesn’t have to look at his own pathetic image. His muscles seize, an ambiguous imitation of an electric shock flowing through his body.

**Come on, Jeremy. I’m just saying what we both know.**

“N-no,” Jeremy croaks through his rapidly closing throat. “You’re wrong. I have people who care about me. I have m-my dad. I have _friends_.”

The resulting laugh from the SQUIP makes Jeremy wince. The sound is increasing with each passing syllable.

**Friends you say? What about that one friend you were so desperate to get back to?**

Jeremy chokes on a sob. All the molten fires flowing through his blood stream suddenly freezes over at the mention of his former best friend. _Nonononono please don’t, please don’t._

**Look at you and your pathetic begging. It’s no wonder he didn’t want to be your friend any more.**

Jeremy wheezes. _Please god no_.

The SQUIP’s grin is palpable in his voice as he delivers his killing blow, **He’ll never come back. _Michael is happy you’re finally gone._**

Jeremy’s knees give out. He crumples to the bathroom floor in a heap of tears. He winds fingers through his hair and pulls, as if the combination of greasy curls and tugging at his scalp can ground him to reality. His heart is beating wildly, he knows it must be, but all he feels is the shell of his hollow heart vehemently stripping apart—layer by layer until there’s nothing left but a husk.

The problem has always been him. The problem always will be him. It’s always _Jeremy’s_ fault.

All his thoughts muddle together and he finds himself moving without even completely being aware of what he’s doing. The next thing he knows though, his phone being cradled in his trembling fingers and he’s tapping at the screen.

** _< hrlp >_ **

** **

His phone immediately starts to buzz rapidly in his hands. The realization that he’s getting a phone call hardly registers until he’s already pressing the answer button.

“_Jeremy?_ _Did you…mean to text me that?”_

Everything sounds like it’s being spoken under several feet of water, words flowing together before streaming into his ears.

Jeremy lets out a sob and gasps past the lump in his throat.

“_Shit, Jeremy. Uh, okay. I’m gonna stay on the phone with you, alright? I just need you to take some deep breaths._”

“C-can’t,” Jeremy rasps, his other hand grabbing at where his heart would be.

Some shuffling comes from the other end. “_Yes, you can. Just do it with me for a little bit._”

Jeremy blindly follows instructions, pressing his forehead to the cold tile of his bathroom floor.

**Everything about you truly is pitiful.**

“_There you go. Keep it up.”_

Jeremy doesn’t know how long he lays curled up on the bathroom, breathing with the person on the other end of the receiver—time has lost its steady flow. He does, however, notice the shift in the person’s inhale and exhale pattern after a while.

“_Alright, I’m gonna hang up now, okay?_”

Jeremy’s heart immediately begins to speed up again, his throat closing more with each beat. “W-wait—”

The line goes dead.

**It’s just us again.**

Oh god, oh god, what has he done? He did something wrong, didn’t he? Oh god, oh god—

The door handle begins to jiggle, the sound obnoxiously loud in the thick air of the room. Jeremy knows he can’t even try to make this situation look any better than it actually is, so he winds in on himself even tighter and wills his father to leave him be. However, when the door opens, he a rush of air before someone is kneeling right by his side.

“Oh my god, Jeremy,” they murmur.

Jeremy cracks his eyes open slightly. “Michael?”

**You make me sick, Jeremy.**

Michael’s face focuses, bringing out the dark circles painted underneath his eyes and worry lines etched between his brows. His hands are hovering above Jeremy, but Jeremy swears he can feel the warmth regardless. It’s a warmth that streamlines directly to the center of his chest, to the knot that had been there for months. Jeremy can’t tell if it’s a painful sensation or just an unfamiliar one. “Hey, can you sit up for me?”

**You called a person who doesn’t even want to be around you.**

Through the molasses encasing his body, Jeremy’s trembling form automatically obeys. He slumps against the wall with a sliver of skin exposed on his back pressing into the baseboard. “Wh—what are you…?”

Michael shifts to Jeremy’s right, eyes roaming his face. “You called me.”

**Weak.**

The knot clenches tighter and the tears fall faster. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Michael snickers humorlessly. “Do you wanna talk it through?”

**He won’t believe you.**

“Loud. SQUIP. I can’t—” Jeremy clutches at his heaving chest.

Michael tilts his head to stare into Jeremy’s eyes. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. Breathe with me again…there you go. Can I touch you?”

_Yes_, screams something deep within his mind; but invisible fingers coil around his throat and wring out the words until they drip into the pit of his stomach to be eaten by acid.

**You give into your desires much to easily.**

Jeremy vehemently shakes his head. _No_, the gesture says. His heart is crying the opposite.

Michael instantly curls his hands to lay in his lap. His soft brown eyes dart down to make sure that their legs aren’t brushing before returning to Jeremy’s face. “That’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay. Just keep breathing, exactly like that. Is there something that I can do for you?”

**Tell him to go away. It’s not like he actually cares.**

Jeremy tries to form words but the only thing that escapes him is a pitiful whine as he presses the heel of his palm onto his ears. Why is the SQUIP suddenly so _loud_? It’s in his brain but his ear drums are ringing, ringing, ringing and it won’t _stop_. He clings to every syllable falling from Michael’s tongue, any sound is better than the grating metal between his ears.

Michael’s mouth thins into a line, furrow between his brows deepening. “I…” he begins. “I think I have an idea? If you don’t like it, then that’s okay too. It’s just something that I think might help.”

Jeremy, still trying to steady his breathing, gives a shaky nod.

“Okay,” Michael murmurs. His hands creep from his lap, crawling slowly enough for Jeremy to easily follow their trail. The calloused pads of Michael’s fingers crook around the white headphones encircling his neck. (Jeremy hadn’t even noticed they had been there, honestly. Those things are as much of an extension of Michael as his legs are. They’re just so _him_.)

Suddenly, they’re off Michael’s neck and plopping gently onto Jeremy’s head. Jeremy blinks, trembling fingers coming up to brush the headphones. Michael pulls out his phone, rapidly scrolling until he finally clicks, and the steady groove of Bob Marley fills his ears.

Jeremy is almost embarrassed with how quickly all the muscles in his body go slack. All his energy goes into catching every beat and tune playing. His fingers tighten around the ear pieces, pressing them harder into his skill as he curls into an even smaller ball. Jeremy hardly realizes his eyes are closing, only that the grip on his lungs is finally loosening.

He continues to breathe; a stable inhale and exhale to the smooth swells and falls of the melody tickling his ears. He’s buried in the sweet chords and lyrics that pour over him, creating a nice and cozy burrow that Jeremy never wants to leave. Except…

Jeremy risks a peek from his newfound safe place and catches the intent gaze of the person he once knew. He knows this fresh coping mechanism might come with a price tomorrow, but Jeremy _does not care_. For now, he’s content to stay in his place of hiding, where he can drown in the sound of Bob Marley’s voice rather than the SQUIP’s.

In this space, this world, that Michael is opening before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank yoooou for reading! I promise that good things are coming! <3


	3. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Posting again?? It's strange but it's happening, I guess. This is borderline fluff (an area that I really need to work on writing-wise) so! Hope you enjoy! <3

Michael doesn’t know what kind of absolute bullshit has gotten him into this kind of situation, but _ it will pay _. Anger isn’t an emotion Michael feels often but right now…right now he’s pretty pissed off at the world.

The fact that Jeremy called him (of all people) doesn’t really bother him. The fact that he rushes to the aid of the person he’s been pushing away for the past several months, however, is what sets him off.

That’s what leads him to his spot on the tile, crisscross in front of Jeremy, who is still clinging onto the old headphones like he would die the second he let them slip from his fingers. Michael eyes him carefully, smoothing every single facial muscle he can in order to not betray the whirlwind tearing through his brain.

He really shouldn’t be here. Not that he doesn’t want to be, Jeremy obviously needs someone right now. Michael just can’t help the tingling instinct (an instinct he has hammered into himself) to curl away, to distance himself. Yet he stays. Yet his heart immediately began to pound when he saw Jeremy’s message. Yet he climbed onto _ Jeremy’s fucking roof _ within a solid 10 seconds (a record, truly). Yet he offered one of his most prized possessions to help comfort him. _ Yet he stays _.

Michael is reasonably confused. At everything, at Jeremy, at himself—_ especially _ at himself. And that’s truly what pisses him off.

Michael came here expecting to comfort someone he once called his best friend then leave and return to his own life with no further thought of it. Now, with every contraction of his heart pumping old fire into his veins, he knows that’s not possible. In the back of his mind he knows that a couple months won’t erase _ twelve years, _ but he had chosen to ignore it for all this time.

And he can’t exactly ignore it _ now _, can he?

Jeremy’s eyes dart open and lock onto his. The bright blue strikes Michael right between his ribs, winding around his heart until each constriction becomes painful and much too familiar for comfort.

No. No, he can’t simply ignore it now.

Jeremy’s gaze travels to his lap as he slips the headphones around his neck slowly, the groove of Marley softly filling the air. “I, uh,” he clears his throat. “I…”

He looks to Michael again, this time with glossy eyes and scrunched brows. That marks the second hit to Michael’s chest. The sudden remorse that overtakes Jeremy’s expression makes Michael’s brain whirl and ears ring.

“I am _ so _ sorry.”

And with that—_ strike three _—Michael’s heart breaks.

Michael wants to be angry. He wants to be angry so bad because it’s been _ months _ since everything went down and just when he thought he was over it, he gets this: an apology—a _ long _ overdue one, at that—that should not affect him this much.

But Jeremy isn’t done.

“I never told you after everything settled. I was afraid that if I mentioned it then I would hurt you again. It was so stupid and I’m _ sorry _. For everything. I’m so so sorry.” Jeremy’s eyes become watery again and Michael drowns in the sight. His lungs fill with fluid as Jeremy bites his lip and blinks rapidly. “You…you can go home if you want.”

Michael isn’t conscious of his own body moving until he sees his trembling hands outstretched and hovering over Jeremy’s shoulders. Jeremy glances at Michael’s arms frozen in time before coming back to his face. There’s a light in those blue eyes that Michael didn’t even realize had been missing.

Then Jeremy is propelling off the wall and entwining himself with Michael. His fingers clutch at the back of Michael’s hoodie like his life depends on it. And Michael…

Michael immediately wraps his arms around Jeremy and presses his cheek to the top of his hair, partially out of old habit and partially because it feels _ right _. Michael’s chest is collapsing in on itself and holding Jeremy is the only logical solution Michael could grasp.

Because as much as Michael’s insides scorch when around his former best friend, he still cares a hell of a lot about Jeremy. The love accumulated from twelve years of friendship doesn’t disappear in a few months, even after being completely neglected for _ months _. Love withers—sometimes it dies—but, despite everything, Michael’s love for Jeremy clings to life just for the simple reason of its own existence.

The spiraling tendrils of feelings once had, creep into the back of his brain. As much as he thinks he should, Michael doesn’t stop it. Michael actually finds it filling a place in his heart he ripped out an eternity ago; this time as something raw, akin to that of a newborn taking its first breaths in the world.

It honestly doesn’t make any of the muddled thoughts and emotions swirling within his body clearer. In fact, this newfound attachment to Jeremy (tentative and weak as it is) only serves to add to the dizziness.

Yet Michael only tightens his grip on Jeremy and finds the phrase, “_ I forgive you _” tumbling from his lips.

Jeremy releases a shuddering sob beneath him.

And maybe, just maybe, a few tears fall from Michael’s eyes too.

* * *

“Damn, man. You’re absolutely insane, you know that?”

Michael rolls his eyes, taking one of his hands off his controller for a brief moment to smoosh his glasses up his nose. The sound of absurdly fake gunfire is faint, more white noise than anything to Michael’s ears. “Yeah, yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Rich snickers. “I’m just saying!”

“You say _ a lot _ of things,” Michael mutters, pressing the buttons on his controller until the clacking overrides the sounds from the speakers.

“I wouldn’t be saying much if my mouth had a—”

Michael’s hand darts out and slings the nearest object—luckily, a pillow—at Rich’s face. Michael misses but still manages to dislodge the controller from his hands and earn a squawk, so he counts that equally as effective. “I don’t even _ want _ to know how you were going to finish that sentence. Get your teenage hormones out of my house.”

Rich laughs, tossing the worn pillow back at Michael, knocking his glasses askew. “But, Headphones, we obviously need to resolve this tension between us,” he whines. “I’ll cry myself to sleep if we don’t!”

Laughter bursts from the bottom of Michael’s chest and echoes across the smooth concrete walls of his basement. “And I thought Christine was the drama queen of the group.”

Eventually their chuckles subside, leaving the telltale traces of joy tugging at Michael’s cheeks. His hangouts with Rich typically do this to him, despite being hella awkward the first few times. They’re...nice.

“But really, man,” Rich sobers, his brown eyes suddenly severe. “What are you gonna do now?”

Michael releases a breath, cold steel lodging into his diaphragm. His fingers pick at the red burlap of the pillow and his eyes focus on the action. “Honestly? I don’t know. I forgave him, yeah and that was kinda the whole point of not hanging around him all the time but…”

Michael’s throat dries up. But his brain finishes the sentence anyways.

_ But what if I open myself up and he hurts me again? It was hard enough once… _

“Hey,” Rich’s hand claps solidly on his shoulder. “No matter what you’re still gonna have the whole squad! We all really care about you, man. Jeremy too, obviously, the dude’s a good work out bro, you know? But that’s beside the point!”

Michael expels air from his nose in a poor excuse for a laugh as a tiny bit of tension releases from his chest. It’s not a solution but it’s a start and he’s ever grateful to Rich for it. “Yeah, I get you. Thanks, dude.”

Rich’s lips curve dramatically, creating a smile that is all teeth and gums and yet still manages to be endearing. Michael’s very glad he’s on the receiving end of such a sight. “Of course! Now!” Rich snatches the forgotten controller from the floor and glances at Michael with mischief gleaming in his eyes. “You ready for me to kick your ass?”

Michael snorts. “I’d be scared if I didn’t just see you get absolutely destroyed by someone with the username _ 420dicklord _.”

“For your information,” Rich lounges on the couch with an over the top smug look taking over his face. “His user was x-x-underscore-420-d-1-c-k-L-0-r-d-underscore-x-x. Aka, the username of my dreams.”

“You…are the most disturbing person I’ve ever met in my entire life. Shut up and play.”

* * *

_ Months Michael spent smiling. It’s real, it felt real and yet bitterness rested in the back of his throat. Jeremy was there—always there—and living with the same intensity as he always had. _

_ Their two lives which were once so deeply intertwined now picked apart. Seams torn. Separated. And as much as Michael relished in that freedom he desperately craved, he became confined by something else that ached in the back of his ribcage. And that “something” refused to reveal itself to Michael, choosing to remain in the shadowed recesses of his very being but always lingering. _

_ Michael wanted to scream. He wanted to cry until the inky darkness inside his body flowed freely from his eyes—just so it wouldn’t continue to plague his body any longer than it already had. He wanted Jeremy to do something—anything! —to wrong him. He wanted a reason. He wanted to be justified in what he did was the right decision. He wanted to heal. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted. _

_ Too much. _

_ And he needed. _

_ Too little. _

Michael remembers this. He remembers that feeling every time he moves to text Jeremy; the memory is enough to freeze his blood and creep into his muscles. He runs his blunt fingernails against his thumbpad.

It’s been a few days since Jeremy apologized to him. Since then he’s hung out with Rich a couple of times and frankly avoided thinking about the whole situation with Jeremy. Though the thoughts of whether or not Jeremy is truly doing okay gnaws at everything in its path—typically only satisfied if Michael reassures himself that he will check on Jeremy later.

Later never comes.

Michael remains silent and so does Jeremy.

(After all, Jeremy has other friends. He has Christine. Why would he need Michael around anymore?)

And now, Michael is finally cracking down. A few texts to make sure Jeremy is recovering from the incident wouldn’t hurt, right?

Yeah.

Michael fishes in his pocket for his phone, a difficult task when someone is sitting crisscross on their bed, unfortunately.

The last message in their history is the single word “help” misspelled in his moment of desperation and then right before that is…something from a long time ago that Michael is _ not _ going to fixate on right now.

** _<hey how are you doing?>_ **

** **

Michael regrets sending it the nanosecond after he hits send. He should have thought this through first, before sending him the first thing he typed.

Michael chews on his thumbnail as he stares at the screen. He’s so fixated on the typing bubbles, the vibration against his palm spikes his heart rate to an alarming extent and sends heat curling through his blood.

**_<Jeremy:_** **_im uh doin ok i guess>_**

**_<Jeremy:_** **_i could be worse tho>_**

** **

Michael lets out a breath, heart still thumping but the painful constricting loosening.

** _<oh okay. well thats good i’m glad>_ **

** **

He knocks himself on the forehead with the edge of his phone. He’s being so stupid right now._ Why _ is he like this?

**_<Jeremy:_** **_yea thanks for,,,everything>_**

** _<yeah! of course i’m just glad your okay>_ **

**_<Jeremy:_** **_u kno i meant it when i apologized right?>_**

** **

Flames encase his veins and his blood turns to ice. He’s dizzy, his brain is cloudy. This isn’t what was supposed to happen, but it _ is _. Michael’s heart is on fire. It’s all consuming and the only thing Jeremy did was apologize again. God, Michael is so pathetic.

** _<i know>_ **

** **

Michael bites his lip and stares at his ceiling. It’s far above his head, much out of his reach but in that moment, with the world turning oddly on its axis, he thinks he could easily brush his fingers against the crusty surface without having to strain at all. All he has to do is reach.

** _<i meant it when i said i forgive you>_ **

** **

The response he gets is immediate. Michael wonders how Jeremy even had time to type anything.

** _<thank u i dont think i desreve it but i…i’m really glad>_ **

Michael’s lips quirk up in response, a dry chuckle escaping his swirling lungs.

Yeah. One conversation certainly couldn’t hurt. 

* * *

A couple days later, while Michael is “chilling” in a secluded corner of the mall’s food court, he gets another message. He opens his phone with annoyance buzzing in his palms, expecting it to be a half-assed excuse from Rich as why he’s almost 30 minutes late (probably has something to do with Jake but Michael ignores that). However, it’s a text from Jeremy.

** **

**_<Jeremy:_** **_yo chris has nevr played pacman and i>_**

** **

** _<this is a crime>_ **

** _<go to an arcade and culture the poor woman>_ **

** **

Michael tilts his head. He’s sure he sounds stilted and slightly awkward, but he can’t, for the life of him, think of _ why _ Jeremy is texting him this. He decides, with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips that he’ll go with it.

**_<Jeremy:_** **_on our way to one right now smh>_**

**_<Jeremy:_** **_and she IS cultured just in a different way>_**

Michael huffs and twiddles his thumbs to think of a reply when he hears a sharp cry of his name. Glancing up reveals a very disheveled Rich in rumpled jeans and a t-shirt marred with pit stains. Michael raises an eyebrow as Rich halts in front of him, a stray bead of sweat travelling down the column of his throat and under the collar of his shirt.

“Dude,” Rich wheezes. “I totally didn’t wake up to any of my alarms. I am _ so _sorry.”

Michael wonders vaguely how many apologies he could possibly get in a few days. “Nah, it’s alright. I haven’t been here that long anyways.” He’s been in the exact same spot for almost 45 minutes.

“Oh good!” Rich brightens, shoulders easing and eyes crinkling. Michael can’t help smiling in return.

He clears his throat, scrambling to his feet and pocketing his phone quickly. “So what did you want to do?”

Rich launches into heated explanation that has something to do with his new wardrobe style for the upcoming fall (it’s still May) and Michael politely listens to every single word.

It isn’t until later that he realizes that he never texted Jeremy back.

He knows he shouldn’t feel guilty about it but the cavern in his gut tells him otherwise.

* * *

It starts out an inkling, as getting to know someone typically does. It’s shy, it’s awkward, it’s stilted, and Michael yearns for it like he’s never known before.

** **

** _<jake has never played Minecraft>_ **

** **

**_<Jeremy:_** **_jake wHAT>_**

**_<Jeremy:_** **_how has he…wHAT???>_**

** **

** _<ikr?>_ **

** **

**_<Jeremy:_** **_our friends never cease to amaze me>_**

** **

** _<sometimes in unpleasant ways>_ **

** **

**_<Jeremy:_** **_yes but we lvoe them anyways (kinda)>_**

** **

** _<rude but true>_ **

(Michael really wishes he could stop dreaming; dreaming of two kids with nothing else in the world except for each other. Dreaming of shared laughs and controllers sticky with Cheeto dust. Dreaming of sparkling blue eyes and light freckles brushing across acne ridden cheeks. Dreaming of the boy who is quickly wiggling his way back into Michael’s life. It doesn’t hurt like he thinks it would—rather, it blooms in chest gently. The soft petals of fondness tickle his lungs. It doesn’t hurt. But, _ god _, does it terrify him.)

* * *

**_<Jeremy:_** **_**image attached**>_**

** **

** _<???>_ **

** **

**_<Jeremy:_** **_it u>_**

** **

** _<i’m offended>_ **

** _<but it definitely me lol>_ **

** **

**_<Jeremy:_** **_“SiNG fOr mE!”_**

** **

** _<*unholy screeching*>_ **

* * *

** _<yo fucking tengo shit>_ **

**_<JermYYyy:_** **_you diD NOT actually write that>_**

** _<i have shit.i just said i have shit>_ **

** _<and i really did i swear>_ **

**_<JermYYyy:_** **_i...realy dont think u did>_**

** _<i did though. look>_ **

** _<**image attached**>_ **

**_<JermYYyy:_** **_“please refrain from using profanity but at least say it in spanish next time” asdfghjkl im dying>_**

** _<i did the work 30 seconds before class i dont know what more she wanted from me>_ **

**_<JermYYyy:_** **_uh maybe to actually do your homework???>_**

** _<im a perfect angle child i dont know what your talkin about>_ **

**_<JermYYyy:_** **_”angle child”>_**

** _<i stand by my word>_ **

**_<JermYYyy:_** **_god ive missed you>_**

** **

Michael pauses. They’ve never broached this subject before.

It’s almost halfway through June and their conversations have evolved into bi-daily checkups and/or sending random memes that make little to no sense but made Michael laugh his ass off anyways. But never had they actually discussed anything along the lines of each other. What they are, what their relationship is (acquaintances? Friends?), or…anything. Not even that much before the whole SQUIP debacle.

Jeremy’s sudden openness catches Michael off guard. His heart beats wildly against his ribs and heat spreads across his cheek bones. Huh.

**_<JermYYyy:_** **_oh gosh im sorry if that made you unconfortble>_**

** **

Michael breathes in slowly, counting as his lungs fill then repeating the numbers as his lungs deflate. Then, with surprising sureness, he replies.

** _<i’ve missed you too>_ **

* * *

** _<i want a slushie>_ **

** **

** _<JeReMy: …it’s literally 3 a.m.>_ **

** **

** _<yeh? and?>_ **

** **

** _<JeReMy: That’s valid.>_ **

** **

** _<are u okay? your using proper grammar?>_ **

** **

** _<JeReMy: Uhhhh. Yeah, I’m goooood.>_ **

** **

** _<…>_ **

** **

** _<JeReMy: ???>_ **

** _<JeReMy: What?>_ **

** **

** _<your trying to act normal and overcompensating>_ **

** _<i just want slushies, Jeremy. keep your libido under control for two feicken minutes>_ **

** **

** _<JeReMy: Libido? Now you’re using fancy words>_ **

** **

** _<i regret everything about this>_ **

* * *

“So are you guys, like, actual friends again?” Chloe asks idly, blowing her wet nails to hopefully dry them quicker.

Michael is laying on the floor, his arms behind his head and his legs propped up on Chloe’s obnoxiously pink bed. He raises a brow at her, hoping she can see it from her spot on the mattress.

She definitely sees, if her eye roll is anything to go by. Poor Brooke is probably extremely confused, not really being able to see either of them from the space on the other side of Chloe. Brooke—bless her soul—remains silent. “You don’t have to answer. You guys have just been texting a lot, is all.”

Michael hums, thinking back on the last message he got from Jeremy.

**_<Furry:_** **_we still need to finish aotd,,,u down for that?>_**

** **

Michael pulls out his phone and stares at that stupid conglomeration of pixels for the thousandth time that night. He reads back in their conversation but always ends up in the exact same place he had been just a few minutes before, an answer still resting in this fingertips.

Michael’s fingers act of their own volition and before he knows it he’s hitting send and pushing his phone back into his pocket confidently.

“Yeah,” Michael says softly. A small chuckle slides off his tongue as he stares at the white popcorn of Chloe’s ceiling. “I guess we are.”

** _<my house or yours?>_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I adore any and all comments :)  
Have a wonderful day/night <3  
ALSO! the pic Jeremy sent to Michael is an elephant shrew with "AAAAAA" coming out of its mouth. It's literally my profile pic on my insta aksdfla


	4. Equinox Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiyaaaaa! It's been a hot minute but! I think (hope) you guys will really like this chapter!  
Also! There is mentioned use of weed. It's like two paragraphs towards the end so if that makes you uncomfortable, please be mindful of that!  
Anyways, here it is!

Jeremy is at war with himself.

The end of summer is approaching and the beginning of senior year looms over him like a shadowed canopy. Most of his days are spent either in his room or on Christine’s couch with a buzzing phone in his hand and a small smile upon his lips. It’s fun at times. He loves getting to spend time with Christine, getting to make her laugh and be the reason for her smile. He loves kissing her cold cheeks, her forehead, her hair, her lips.

He loves _ Christine _.

It’s the name that’s a constant on Jeremy’s lips both before and after the SQUIP debacle. The girl of his dreams and his first love.

She’s lovely and wonderful and like a spring breeze against his skin. He might even call her a personification of Persephone, with the flowers she sprouts from a single glance. Pollen drops from her fingertips and nectar cascades over her lips like sweet honey.

And Jeremy adores her. One might even say that he worships her. Or at least, he did.

They’ve been dating a while—almost nine months by this point—but Jeremy is becoming all too aware of how damning his mindset can be.

Christine remains sweet, loving, fun, and _ wonderful _ person she’s always been. But she is not a deity, contrary to his songs of praise. He can build as many altars as he pleases but that doesn’t change the fact that she is wholly human. Imperfect and flawed. (Though no less beautiful.)

Jeremy loves her, he truly does. Something—he can’t put his finger on it, it’s just _ something _—isn’t right.

They smile and dance in a field of blissful white carnations slowly becoming dotted with yellow roses. And everything is…

Fine. Just fine. Not spectacular. Just…_ fine _.

Jeremy’s teeth grit every time it happens. He’ll be sitting with his arm around Christine or doing something as silly as throwing bits of popcorn at each other, and his heart will simmer and flutter. It’s perfect and glorious until he realizes that the center of his heart is nonexistent. His heart is hollow and it’s no one else’s fault but his own (and he doesn’t even know what he did).

Words cheekily twirl on the back of his tongue, mocking him and begging to be released. He _ won’t _though. He’s worked too hard for the life he’s living to let it slip through his fingers because it’s not all he thought it would be.

He hates it.

He hates _ himself _.

But he’ll be damned if he ever shows it. So he doesn’t.

* * *

Jeremy does.

He’s detonating in the worst way possible and the words fly from his mouth as they had been longing to do for weeks. Jeremy wishes he could regret them, but he doesn’t. A strange weight is lifted from his chest and he can breathe easier than he had been able to in a long ass time. But with that release comes a new onslaught of nerves and anxiety and _ pain _.

Three weeks before the beginning of his senior year Jeremy sits on Christine’s porch, sweat gliding down his back and staining his shirt. The warm breeze rustles against the swing he and Christine are perched upon and washes over his face. He can’t decide whether the heat or the weight of Christine’s gaze is more oppressing.

His stomach twists into impossible knots and every muscle in his body trembles. God, he can’t believe he’s actually doing this. He’s going to hurt her. He knows he _ is _ hurting her and he hates it, he hates it so _ fucking much _—

“Jeremy?”

Jeremy licks his lips and dries his profusely sweating palms on the comforting scratch of khaki. “Y-yeah?”

“I know exactly what you mean. I think I feel the same way,” Christine quietly admits.

Jeremy’s lungs release every scrap of air to be found. He wheezes, “You do?”

Christine nods.

“Oh…” Jeremy studies her face closely, finding no trace of malice or deception. Her eyes sparkle like a full moon reflecting on a dark pool of water—peaceful and breathtaking. She reaches toward him and grasps his hand in her soft one. Christine’s smile is full of chrysanthemums and gentleness, just as it should be.

She squeezes his hand and leans to press her lips to his cheek. “Thank you.” Then she’s standing, black curls and green skirt bouncing with her. “Well! I’ll see you at school then, yeah? Unless someone else in the group decides to throw a wild party. In which case, I _ know _ I’ll see you there.”

They both laugh, surprisingly light. “Yeah. I’ll see you…”

Christine marches to her door, the dull thud of her boots against the wood echoing in his brain. Just as her hand is reaching for the knob, Jeremy finds himself jumping to his feet and yelping a short, “wait!”

Christine regards him with a raised brow.

“F…friends?” His muscles are made of jelly, threatening to tumble under the weight of his own bones and emotions. Much to his relief, Christine smiles.

“Yeah…friends,” she murmurs. His shoulders drop, and he returns the grin. She chuckles softly. “Goodbye, Jeremy.”

“Goodbye, Christine.”

The door shuts firmly, leaving Jeremy alone with the sounds of leaves crackling in the wind against the pavement. With a sigh, Jeremy pushes off and sticks his hands in his pockets, fishing for his phone and pulling it out.

** _<hey,,,chris n i just broke up>_ **

** **

**_<Mitchael: _** **_oh jeez…im so sorry dude>_**

** **

** _<dont be>_ **

** **

**_<Mitchael: _** **_do you wnana come over?>_**

** **

** _<yea. ill be there soon>_ **

Jeremy pockets the device and shuts his eyes momentarily. He lets the breeze waft over him and tickle his nose. He doesn’t know when he starts crying, he just knows that he’s never felt more relieved and horrendous in his entire life.

* * *

“Bro, what the fuck?”

Jeremy’s eyes snap up to Rich’s. Jeremy blinks a few times before returning his gaze to the monotone mush of food plopped onto the plastic cafeteria tray. What a wonderful first day to his senior year. “Nice to see you too. Have a good summer?”

Rich slams his own tray down, sending kernels of corn flying across the table. Rich plops down across from him just as aggressively. “I literally saw you a few days ago, dude. Speaking of, we need to get our workouts planned out now that we’re back in school again. But that’s not the point!”

Rich points his plastic fork at Jeremy menacingly. Jeremy’s eyes quickly dart around the loud cafeteria, silently pleading to whatever deity is out there for someone—anyone—from their group to come save him. “So _why _exactly did I have to hear from Jenna that my workout buddy and the personification of cuteness are now broken up?”

“Oh,” Jeremy’s face is set ablaze. “Uh, we didn’t want to make a big deal out of it to everyone…so, yeah.”

Rich narrows his brown eyes. “That’s one bullshit excuse.”

“Well it’s all I got,” Jeremy hisses. Their gazes lock and Jeremy sighs. “Listen, it’s all fine. Nothing is going to change.”

Rich raises a brow and empties almost the entirety of the shitty school milk while staring Jeremy down—Jeremy stores this into the file labelled ‘_ Further Evidence that Richard Goranski is Not Human Vol. 4 _.’ “You tell yourself that but—”

“Hey guys!” Jake sits to Rich’s right and beams at the two of them. Jeremy internally blesses Jake for being a human puppy as his shoulders slacken.

“Hiya,” Jeremy quips. Jake beams at him before turning to a surprisingly silent Rich. The corners of his eyes soften slightly, and Rich returns it.

Huh…

“How are you?” Jake says gently.

Rich’s cheeks go red and he suddenly finds the pencil graffiti on the table very interesting. “Oh. I’m doing just dandy.”

Jake laughs and shoves his shoulder lightly. Rich shoves him much more roughly in return but Jake only chuckles more.

_ Huh _…

All the girls soon file in; Jenna sits to his right with Christine across from her and Brooke is seated next to Christine, across from Chloe. “I just cannot believe that bitch thought she’d beat out Christine for the lead,” Chloe growls.

Christine giggles sweetly. “Well, since we haven’t tried out for it yet, she could—”

“But she _ won’t _,” Brooke injects.

“Exactly,” Chloe flips her long hair over her shoulder. “There is absolutely no way in hell Andrea will _ ever _—”

“So, how have your first days been?” Christine chirps, her eyes aimed directly at Jeremy, blooming with imploration.

Long-term instinct tugs at Jeremy’s stomach as if there’s a hook caught there. It tries to reel stuttered phrases from his throat and lure his blood to pool in his cheeks, but it turns up fruitless. That line has been permanently severed, but he can’t resist the urge to be the one to leap to Christine’s rescue.

“Mine has been fine,” Jeremy scoops some dried mashed potatoes in his mouth. “I don’t really know most of the people in my classes though.”

“Well ouch.”

Jeremy startles, turning to see Michael flopping beside him, armed with a slushie and a package of chips. A few curls are plastered to his forehead and his glasses are sliding to the tip of his nose at a rapid pace. Michael makes no move to fix them. Jeremy’s fingers twitch but he decides to ignore this fact.

“You’re sweaty,” Jeremy states elegantly.

Michael rolls his eyes, pulling the slushie straw between his teeth. “Wow. I’m so glad someone finally noticed. I worked so hard.”

Jeremy’s nose wrinkles as he nudges Michael’s shoulder. “I don’t need your attitude.”

“_ I don’t need your attitude _,” Michael mimics in his falsetto.

Jeremy opens his mouth to respond but the words are lost in translation when a hand appears in his field of vision and pushes Michael’s glasses up for him. Jeremy blinks as the arm retreats. From the corner of his eye he can vaguely make out a sheepish looking Rich, but Jeremy is much more intrigued by the darkening of Michael’s cheeks as he slowly turns his wide eyes to the other side of the table.

…huh?

“Sorry, dude,” Rich chuckles. “You gotta keep those on your face.”

Michael jerks, hand automatically reaching to slide his glasses further up his nose. He doesn’t seem aware that they are even on his face. “Uh, yeah.”

_ Huh? _

Jeremy bounces between the two of them: a flustered Michael and an embarrassed Rich. The hook is suddenly stabbing in the center of his heart and _ tugging _. He wishes he didn’t remember a time when those same actions were acceptable for him to do. He wishes even more that he could tear his eyes away from the doe-eyed expression on Michael’s face.

Jeremy and Michael are friends, yes. Though it was tentative at first, it has blossomed into something that resembles being _ best _friends yet again and Jeremy’s heart leaps at the thought. However, they are nowhere near where they used to be.

And that fact laces around his wrists and cinches until the tips of his fingers are completely numb. It encircles his tongue and dries his mouth of all moisture. His heart pangs and wrings and _ hurts _—

“Madeline just tweeted about her new school,” Jenna pipes up, thumbs never ceasing to move.

The screech that emits from Chloe in that moment can only be described as _ unholy. _ “That _ bitch! _”

And just like that, everything resumes at it’s normal pace. Only this time, Jeremy’s chest aches a little more than it did before.

* * *

**_<Michkaele:_** **_ok so you’ve heard “jerebear” like a thousand times>_**

**_<Michkaele:_** **_but ill do you one better…>_**

**_<Michkaele:_** **_jerry-berry>_**

** _<if u ever say that again i swear i will call you mikey in front of rich>_ **

** _<and he will call u that FOREVER>_ **

** **

**_<Michkaele:_** **_…you wouldnt>_**

** **

** _<oh ye i would MIKEY_ ** **>**

**<_Michkaele: _i fuckign hate you>**

* * *

Jeremy doesn’t know what happened between the first day of senior year and the final day of his first semester. He really doesn’t.

First of all, his ex-girlfriend is now one of his best friends in the whole world. Seriously, he has no idea what he’d done without her gentle nudges or aggressive bouts of ranting without the shroud of romance settling over their shoulders. Friendship with Christine is much more subtle, smooth, and comfortable for the both of them. She’s a constant source of energy and fondness, sturdy and reliable—as always though without any source of pressure in sight.

Then there are his friends. Specifically, Michael and Rich.

He and Michael are hanging out as they usually do. Though the “usual hang out” is morphing into something…new? Strange? Jeremy isn’t quite sure how to put it.

What truly matters is the frequency of when the two of them are together (alone) is steadily increasing and the variety of things they do is increasing as well. Just last week they had travelled out of their little town to go get Chinese food.

(_ “Really, Jeremy, it’s just a craving you don’t have to—” _

_ “I’m already in the car and I’m coming to get you. Be ready in 10.”) _

They are on the cusp of their final winter vacation in high school and Jeremy has known for several weeks that things have been changing. Even more so than it had been—at least that’s what it feels like to Jeremy. Because Michael and their friendship has been a constant in his life and those months without him rocked everything out of orbit until he finally regained his balance in this new world. Now he has it back. But even then, things are just…different. _ Michael _is different.

Jeremy can’t really put his finger on it, but Michael seems…lighter? Freer? Happier. He’s happier.

He’s also been hanging out with Rich more than he had previously.

Iciness drips from the roots of Jeremy’s hair and tracks down his shoulders in an agonizing pace that acts as a vague imitation of molasses. The corner of Jeremy’s mouth twitches downward.

Michael can spend time with whoever he wants, Jeremy knows this, and he only gets the slight chill of disappointment when Michael goes to spend time with the girls of the group. But the reaction to Rich is visceral and Jeremy hates it more than anything because Rich is _ his friend _ ; Rich is _ Michael’s _friend. He was there for him in moments where Jeremy couldn’t have been more of a failure to his childhood friend.

So _ why _ ? _ Why the hell _ did he hate it so much when Michael would turn his million-watt smile to Rich? Or when he would laugh and throw his arm around the shorter one?

It irritated Jeremy to no end.

“Jere,” Michael drawls, nudging his shoulder. “You okay, bud?”

Jeremy’s stomach turns. _ Stop it. Stop reacting like this. _ “Yeah, sorry.”

He refocuses on the grainy images of _ Apocalypse of the Damned _ and shifts the cursor to the _ retry _ button. His palms sweat under the combined weight of his game controller and Michael’s gaze. The scrutiny Jeremy is suddenly under burns on his cheeks. Jeremy fakes a sniffle and rubs the end of his sleeve over his face to hide his blush.

Michael hums but a buzz interrupts any further conversation he hoped to make. Sighing, Michael reaches out and checks his messages. “Aw, shit.”

“What?”

Michael shakes his head, shuffling into a standing position. “Uh, nothing really. I just forgot that I told Rich I’d let him play on Ole Nessie. He’s at my house right now.”

“Wait,” Jeremy stands with wobbly knees and a trembling heart. Everything is _ fine _. “Your NES? Dude, you don’t let anyone touch that thing.”

“He kinda conned it out of me,” Michael mumbles under his breath. He scoops his bag up and bounds down the stairs with a fond smile on his face.

Jeremy’s chest twinges uncomfortably as he shuffles to the staircase. “Ah. Okay, well. I guess you should go.”

Michael twirls to face him on the bottom step, one eyebrow quirked_ . _“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Hm?” Jeremy blinks. “Oh, yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. Totally good. Um. Yes.”

**God, you’re like a puppy.**

_ Fuck off, you SQUIP bastard. _

“Yoooouuu don’t look fine,” Michael’s brows draw together and his lower lip catches between his teeth.

Jeremy’s temperature increases at a dizzying rate and he _ really needs to stop staring what the fuck— _ ** you really are so stupid, Jeremy.**

“No, I am!” **Liar.** “I just…” **Ask him. I know you’re dying to know.** “Do you…like him?”

A muscle in Michael’s cheek twitches. “Who? Rich?”

Oh god, saying it out loud makes the lump in his throat suffocating. What the _ hell _ ? Please _ stop. _ Jeremy simply nods.

Michael’s face blooms in a spectacular pink. “Oh! Oh, no. No, I don’t. Not like that. Well, uh, not anymore. We, um—” he clears his throat “—we’re just friends. He has a thing for someone else anyways.”

_ Anymore _…

“Anymore? Did something happen?”

Jeremy has never seen Michael’s face turn this red _ in his life _. And Jeremy had seen this kid have to go to the ER to get a crayon out of his nose.

“I, heh. Well, I asked him if he was interested in someone and he named someone who is definitely not me. So.” Michael coughs into his fist, averting his gaze to the ceiling.

Jeremy’s blood boils within his veins like rivers of lava creeping from an awakened volcano. Jeremy, for the life of him, can’t pinpoint why. “When was this?”

“Ah, like two months ago.”

Okay, so a month after that weird first day at lunch. Well, at least that’s one thing that finally makes sense to Jeremy. What still doesn’t make sense is _ why he feels so fucking relieved. _

**You should ask why he didn’t come to you about this.**

_ He didn’t want to tell me in the first place why would he want to tell me now? _

**Because all you have to do is ask. You could do so much more if—**

** **

“I…” Jeremy licks his lips. His brain is pounding with all the words he wants to say but escape like fleeting wind from his grasp. “I’m sorry.”

Michael shrugs. “It happens.” Another buzz sounds from Michael’s hoodie pocket.

Shit.

“Y-you should go,” Jeremy puts on a shaky smile that he is sure to crinkle his eyes for—so Michael would believe he’s fine.

_ Why _ did the stutter have to come out? Just _ why _.

Michael grins back as a small chuckle rumbles from his throat. “Yeah,” he swivels back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jere!”

“See ya.”

The door clicks shut, and it is only then that his lungs fully inflate with air.

Jeremy trudges back to his room, warm cheeks puffing in a long sigh. He flops face first onto his bed and wracks his brain for a decent explanation of why the hell he’s acting so strange.

It doesn’t take him long to figure it out.

It’s a few days later when Michael is leaving his house yet again and throws out a quick “_ Love you! _” Sunshine bounces through the ventricles of Jeremy’s heart and shines high on his cheekbones.

“_ I love you too, _” he says.

And like the dawn of day, suddenly, Jeremy is enlightened.

* * *

** _<_ ** [ **_https://youtu.be/l2kwie-gs2o_**](https://youtu.be/l2kwie-gs2o) ** _ >_ **

** _<im not sobbing>_ **

** **

**_<jerryBerry:_** **_michael its too early for this>_**

** **

** _<wow. what a wonderful supportive best friend i have>_ **

** **

**_<jerryBerry:_** **_listen i know u sob regualarly to this song, this isnt news>_**

** **

** _<i am nOt criying>_ **

** **

**_<jerryBerry:_** **_…>_**

**_<jerryBerry:_** **_do u need someone to cry with?>_**

** **

** _<yes please>_ **

** **

**_<jerryBerry:_** **_im on skype, call me>_**

* * *

Michael wouldn’t call himself an observant person if asked, but when it comes to the subtleties of Jeremy Heere, he finds himself constantly studying and watching intently.

There’s some sort of triumph Michael feels after each discovery he makes about the person he’s known for as long as he can remember. A tiny victory is earned with every twitching line of body language that Michael can successfully read.

It’s a satisfaction that trickles into Michael’s very core to know that he’s relearning the tiniest things about Jeremy. However, what makes it all the more intriguing is when Michael’s lips turn up of their own volition even when Jeremy makes the ugliest of faces. Of course, he still laughs and teases his best friend about it but it’s like there’s something softer, more endearing about these faces that causes Michael’s heartstrings to trip over themselves.

There are a few precious things that Michael, even now, has yet to learn about his closest friend. He’s eager to understand, yet he wants it to happen naturally. Or as “naturally” as things can possibly progress when you’re a teenager living in the wreckage left by an evil supercomputer from Japan.

“Naturally” should be quiet and raw and filled with genuine paragraphs lined with errors and stutters. “Naturally” should be willing and careful. “Naturally” should be flowing with a meticulously set ambiance settling in the atmosphere.

“Naturally” should not be something as jolting as Jeremy suddenly ripping off his shirt.

Michael will admit that it’s totally his fault. He’s the one who brought weed to Jeremy’s house while his dad is away on a business trip and coaxed a blunt into his friend’s shaking fingers.

(Truthfully, there wasn’t even much coaxing to be done. Michael took one hit, slowly blowing the smoke through his loose lips. After that, Jeremy plucked the blunt from his grasp and desperately inhaled with a face that glowed ruddier than the lit roll between his teeth.)

He’s also the one who decided to fill up his cup too full of soda and stumble into Jeremy’s room, then subsequently, flop down next to him on the floor. But Michael made the fatal mistake of underestimating how far his cup would tip when he did so. Jeremy ended up with a shirt soaking an unhealthy amount of carbonated drink and expression so adorably dorky that Michael couldn’t contain his giggles.

Jeremy’s face contorted into a pout as he sat on the bed. Michael travelled to the other side in order to retrieve the roll of paper towels he’d acquired earlier. (Present Michael is very grateful to Past-and-Sober Michael in this moment.)

Which brings Michael to the current situation—which is his third mistake of the night if he’s counting correctly.

Jeremy sits perched on the other side of his bed, hem of his shirt climbing higher and higher on his back.

Michael sucks in a breath and knows that he should turn away. Although, they have known each other forever so it’s not like he hasn’t seen the pale expanse of Jeremy’s back before. However, this is not the boney plain that he remembers it being.

No, what Michael sees is a setting of blues and blacks, seeping into one another like an unmerited watercolor smearing onto Jeremy’s back in jerking streaks. Spots of dark blue dot each individual vertebra from his hairline down below the waist of his jeans. His taunt skin looks like a cruel projection of a lightning storm etched in dark hues along his shoulder blades and spine.

Michael’s stomach churns at the sight. “Oh my god,” he breathes.

Immediately the muscles in Jeremy’s back seize and his posture turns icy.

“Jere—”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Jeremy’s voice hardly carries to Michael’s ears. “Don’t worry about it.”

Michael sucks in deeply, hoping that the cool air would sate the fire that rages through his insides. It doesn’t. It really fucking doesn’t.

“How the hell am I not supposed to worry about this? What happened? Are you okay?” Michael wants to bridle his tongue. Though it’s a little hard to do so when the metal restraint is caving under the molten filling his veins.

Jeremy’s back muscles bunch under the strain of Michael’s questions. “I’m fine. It was just the SQUIP.”

“_ Just _ the SQUIP?” Michael seethes. That SQUIP has _ no _idea how fucking lucky it is that the only way to harm it is to harm Jeremy as well. “God, Jere. I’m…” Michael swallows, closing his eyes for a moment as he focuses on the person before him and throwing his hypotheticals from his mind. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Yes, I do,” Michael whispers, voice melting away with his fury. Then even softer, “Yes, I really do.”

Jeremy doesn’t respond, nor does he turn around. He’s frozen with his t-shirt twisted in his hands and his face downturned. His neck and ears beam red, clashing completely with the color scheme streaking across his back.

Michael sees himself moving before he feels it. His legs shift onto the bed and his trembling hand stretches out in front of him. Michael sucks his bottom lip between his teeth as his fingertips brush over the canvas between Jeremy’s shoulder blades. The skin is warm and smooth beneath his cold fingers. The tendons in Jeremy’s back relax under Michael’s touch.

He traces from one edge to another, slowly taking in every bump, curve, and acne scar he encounters on this path. Once he reaches the other side, he treks back once more over and over again in a gentle sweep.

Michael’s teeth clamp harder onto his lip and his eyebrows knit together as his stomach begins to swirl beauteously. His mind clouds over. The feverous rain drops of earnestness drizzle down his cheeks and collarbones to pool in his overworking heart.

Words remain confined in the margins of his consciousness even after he draws his hand away. Even still after Jeremy shoves a dry t-shirt over his head.

They go to bed facing away from each other, the heat of Jeremy’s skin still echoing in Michael’s fingertips.

* * *

Michael is neither stupid nor naïve. Oblivious, maybe, but once something is known to Michael, he truly knows.

So, when the fluttering feeling of such intimate contact with Jeremy thrums happily in his chest days later, it clicks in Michael’s head like a troublesome piece finally being turned to fit into the puzzle correctly.

Michael knows he’s very jarringly in love with Jeremy.

And from the sparkle in Jeremy’s eyes when he catches Michael’s stare, Michael knows that Jeremy knows this too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys liked it!  
If the link to the video Michael mentioned doesn't work for you, the video is "Trisha's Lullaby" from the Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood soundtrack!  
As usual, I love your comments and if you yell at me about BMC (or FMA:B, for that matter) aaaaaaand yeah! Have a wonderful day/afternoon/night <3


	5. Solstice Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT AAAAAAAAKFDJALSDFK  
I'm literally so happy I finished this. Without further ado, here it is! :D

**_<Micha: _** **_let’s commit a crime>_**

** **

** _<literaly wh e r e is this coming from>_ **

** **

**_<Micha: _** **_oh come ooooon honey bunches of oats>_**

** **

** _<…when did you become a southern soccer mom>_ **

** **

**_<Micha: _** **_i’m channeling my spirit animal jere get over it>_**

** **

** _<i want a divorce>_ **

** **

**_<Micha: _** **_gasp! but! The children!>_**

** **

** _<u r seriously ridiculous>_ **

** **

**_<Micha: _** **_i try ;)>_**

** **

** _<blocked. dont ever wink at me again>_ **

** **

**_<Micha: _** **_oUCH? Words HURT jere>_**

**_<Micha: _** **_what if I let you play my NES????>_**

**_<Micha: _** **_stil blockin me now????>_**

** **

** _<hmmmm…>_ **

** **

**_<Micha: _** **_:(((((>_**

** **

** _<,,,,it is quite an offere>_ **

** **

**_<Micha: _** **_;DDD>_**

** **

** _<nvm im still blocking u>_ **

** **

**_<Micha: _** **_NOOOOO>_**

** **

* * *

Spring surges through New Jersey like a revving engine. Despite himself—read: despite his pastiness—Jeremy spends much of his time outside. He’s hooked on the clarity and simplicity of laying in the grass like he used to do when his world only consisted of afternoons streaked in dirt and the echoing sounds of a make-believe world being brought to life. Many of those memories include a tiny Michael with glasses constantly sliding from his nose and a gap in his two front teeth, so Jeremy is more than happy to put himself in the space to remember those things. It’s a bonus, he supposes.

Jeremy chews absently on his thumbnail as his eyes trace the grey outline of the clouds overhead. The fluffy billows loom above his head until they’re caught by the spring breeze and whisked away. A particularly large one is finally almost across the sky, the sunrays peeking through the thin edges ready to blind him at any moment. Jeremy finds himself holding his breath in anticipation for this moment.

“Stop that, it’s not good for you.” A gentle nudge draws his attention to the person by his side. He’s not surprised to see Christine; he’d been texting her before he escaped the confines of his room to sit in the open space of his back yard and she must have let herself in. (He gave her a key about a month ago. She burst into tears and hugged him so tightly he was almost positive she fractured one of his ribs.)

“Can’t help it, Chris. You know that,” Jeremy releases his nail and sits up on his hands, blades of grass slipping through his fingers. He pats the space next to him with a flourish. “Saved you a spot.”

Christine snickers, nose crinkling and smile wide as can be. “How gentlemanly of you, Jeremiah.”

“Ew,” Jeremy chuckles as Christine plops down next to him and arranges her skirt. “I feel like I’m in trouble when you call me that.”

“Are you?”

Jeremy sucks in a deep breath, his grin fading into a tiny upturn of his lips. “I don’t know, honestly.”

Christine hums. She plucks at the grass with her fingers, running along the length of each blade then picking it from the ground before moving on to the next one. A few sun beams escape the clouds to happily gaze upon her peaceful face. Her dark eyes track her own movements and breeze pushes the ends of her hair lick at her cheekbones all while a smile plays at her lips. It’s as if nature itself is aware of her and bends itself in order to construct a picturesque view of its favorite creation.

It’s unfair, really.

“Graduation is coming up pretty soon,” She murmurs as gently as the wind.

Jeremy turns back to the sky. Another cloud has appeared in the place of the larger one in front of the sun. “I know.”

He can feel Christine’s gaze on him. “Do you know what you’re going to do?”

It’s a rather loaded question as it is, but the more Jeremy thinks about the answer, the more deadly and sharp the phrase becomes to him.

Does Jeremy know what he’s going to do after he graduates? Sort of; he’s applied for college and he plans on attending for at least a semester or two without a declared field of study. Does he know what he’s going to do with his life after that? Nope; that one doesn’t really warrant any more explanation. Does Jeremy know what he’s going to do about his high school friends? Yes; anything he can to keep them. Does Jeremy know what he’s going to do about these feelings for Michael that just refuse to go away no matter how deep Jeremy tries to bury them? Absolutely fucking not.

Jeremy settles for a shrug. “Not really in the long term but short term, kinda.”

“I get that. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Sighing, his head lolls lazily to meet her eyes. Her face is soft, but he sees the determination roaring in her irises. His heart rate picks up.

Jeremy hasn’t told anyone about his feelings towards Michael. And he  _ knows  _ it’s stupid for him not to tell her, she’s his closest friend (aside from Michael, obviously) but the strong hook of fear holds fast to his jaw and the words never flow from him. God, he doesn’t even know what he’s afraid of. Her reaction clearly but this is  _ Christine _ . She wouldn’t be angry, he knows. Nothing will really change but…

_ What if it does? _

Jeremy tears his gaze away and shifts his weight, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his chin on the coarse denim. The slight buzz of anxiety circulates in his foggy mind. Even so, Jeremy decides he wants to tell her.

“So, uh…there’s a person that I, like, you know, like. Well, maybe not  _ just _ ‘like’, it could be love—no, it’s love. It’s definitely love. Oh god, why can’t I speak English?”

Christine giggles. “English is overrated anyways. So, you’re in love.”

“Yeah…” Jeremy worries his lip with his teeth. “Yeah, I am.”

Christine says nothing for a couple beats. When Jeremy peeks at her, she’s fiddling with the hem of her jacket and squinting at him. Right when Jeremy opens his mouth to shove his into it, Christine gives a curt nod. “Cool.”

“Wha—?”

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Jeremy, I’m really trying to decide whether to tackle you in a hug or punch you in the arm right now so don’t try me.”

“ _ What? _ ”

Christine beams at him. The sun pales at the sight, he swears. “I can’t believe it took you this long to tell me but…I’m really happy for you, Jeremy.”

An impossible pressure finally releases from his chest and Jeremy suddenly breathes easier than he has in months. “Really?”

“Of course, silly,” Christine leans back on her hands and gives a crooked grin. “I’m pretty sure I already know who it is, but I’d also really like it if you went ahead and told me who the person you’re into is.”

Jeremy flops onto his back, bones weakening at the sheer relief overwhelming his system. “Oh, uh—” his cheeks set aflame “—i-it’s Michael?”

Christine’s laugh rings true in his ears. “Why is it a question?”

Jeremy’s eyes squeeze shut as the wildfire blazes across the apples of his cheeks. “It’s Michael.”

“Darn right it is,” Christine pinches his nose playfully.

Jeremy groans. “You knew?”

“I’m not an idiot, Jeremy. I have  _ eyes _ .”

“Please end me.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Christine flicks his forehead before smoothing his hair back. “It’s just because I know you.”

“Oh.” The tension in his shoulders eases once more.

“You should tell him.”

Then the tension is back. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” Christine says firmly, gently tugging on a curl.

Jeremy swats her hand away. “There’s no point, Chris. He already knows.”

A crease forms between her brows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jeremy scoots into an upright position. “He knows I love him.”

Christine does not look any less confused. In fact, she looks at him incredulously.

Jeremy laughs through his nose. “I would say it’s because we’ve known each other our whole lives and I’d be able to tell but that wouldn’t be true. I don’t know how. I wasn’t as in tune with him as I should have been for quite a while and that cost me our friendship. But now…I just  _ know _ .”

“And? What does that mean for him?”

Jeremy tries to bite back a smile, which fails miserably. The pleasant roiling in his stomach flops around at his next words. “He loves me too.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Christine waves her hands frantically in front of her. “So. You’re telling me that both of you are in love with each other, know that the feelings are mutual, and aren’t together?”

“It’s not like we’ve actually said it but yeah, essentially,” Jeremy muses quietly.

“That is the single stupidest thing I have ever heard in my life.”

“Hey—!”

“—and you know it is!”

Jeremy rolls his eyes, shifting towards Christine. “It doesn’t matter. We’re graduating and then Michael is going to go off and find someone at college. Someone who’s treated him a hell of a lot better than I have.”

The warm air tangles in his lungs and creates knots in his throat. A tiny amoeba of an idea festering in his brain is suddenly taking a solid form behind his ribcage. Michael is going to move on. He’s going to fall in love and spend the rest of his life with someone. Someone Jeremy won’t even be able to hate because they will be  _ so much better than him _ .

“Jeremy,” Christine places her hand atop Jeremy’s. He hadn’t been aware he’d clenched fists until this moment. “You can’t keep holding on to that. He’s forgiven you. He  _ loves  _ you. And he deserves to hear you say it.”

Jeremy eyes her face briefly, tracing the harsh lines of concern etched there. He sighs. “Maybe so.”

Christine throws her arms around Jeremy’s shoulders and pulls him tightly to her. Automatically, Jeremy sinks into her embrace, resting his forehead against the side of her neck. “Don’t go back to being afraid.”

Jeremy clings to the arm across his chest. “Thank you.”

* * *

**_<Jere: _** **_y did they give me homework this hard when im LITERALY ABOUT TO GRADUATE>_**

**_<Jere: _** **_ug. grant me death>_**

** **

** _<no. transaction denied>_ **

** **

**_<Jere: _** **_WHAT>_**

**_<Jere: _** **_but i PAID>_**

** **

** _<don’t recall that. Out of my store>_ **

** **

**_<Jere: _** **_since when did u work at the death store???>_**

** **

** _<im full of surprises jere ;)>_ **

** **

**_<Jere: _** **_god the fUcKiNg wiNk>_**

** **

** _<i know you like it ;)))>_ **

** **

**_<Jere: _** **_ur not good for my heart u knw that?>_**

** **

** _<ohoho i am. trust me, i know>_ **

** **

**_<Jere: _** **_ominous>_**

** **

** _<only for you>_ **

** **

* * *

No more games. No more getting high to sort things out. No more running away. No more hiding.

These things make up Michael’s new creed. These are the things he wants to live by in the world beyond his high school walls and he wants to start as soon as he can.

But if he is going to live by these things, then one thing he knows must be done. Something that he has yet to fully reveal because of—what? Fear? Pride? A conglomerate mix between the two more likely.

He has to tell Jeremy.

Or, at the very least Jeremy has to tell him.

They’ve been playing along the line between “best friends” and “boyfriends” for  _ months _ now. Everything between them now seems to pass slowly, like the passage of time couldn’t help but slow to let them sink in every moment. (Though it still didn’t soften the swift blow of realization that smacked him straight in the gut when he thought for the first time ‘ _ oh my god I love him _ .’)

The two of them have gotten as close as a person possibly can to confessing their feelings without actually saying the words. On one hand, Michael finds it hilarious that they can both be so stubborn. On the other though, lies a layer of frustration and uncontainable greed.

Michael talks to Rich about it sometimes. But that conversation typically ends with Michael being teased mercilessly while he sits with a red face and Rich’s cackles fill the basement.

Bottom line: Michael loves Jeremy. Michael knows Jeremy loves him too. And Michael cannot go a second more without hearing those words (finally) out in the open between the two of them.

He’s contained them for far longer than he should have; it’s borderline too long, honestly.

(But he won’t make that mistake again.)

So, when the end of spring creeps closer and the scale tips in the favor of summer, Michael welcomes Jeremy into his home for a graduation celebration with only the two of them.

The night is quiet. Little snippets of Jeremy’s chuckles sending the sparks of thrill running down his spine and small jokes passed in murmured voices between them as their characters fought on screen.

And Michael is so happy.

Then Jeremy pauses their game and turns his bloodshot eyes to Michael. Michael holds his breath, but Jeremy is silent.

Jeremy leans to him, fingers outstretched to caress across Michael’s face with a tenderness so raw Michael world collapses in on itself. He stays there, searching Michael’s face as a star-slinger might observe his masterful work in the night sky. He’s so close but he’s  _ too far away _ .

Michael brings his hands to Jeremy’s jaw, allowing the pads of his thumbs to skim over the freckles dusted across his cheek bones. Their foreheads connect and from this close he can practically  _ see  _ it. Michael can see the words left unsaid on the tips of his lips, waiting for the push over the edge so they can crash into oblivion.

So Michael  _ shoves _ .

“Say it,” Michael croaks. Jeremy’s breath fans across his face in a shaky staccato rhythm. His bright eyes are bluer than deep water, but a fire ignites behind his pupils; so intense that Michael’s own soul is set aflame. He’s searing, he’s charring, he’s soaring, he’s  _ falling _ all at once. The closer he draws to Jeremy the more his waxen wings dissolve. He’s crashing, he’s  _ burning _ .

_ _

“I…think you know.” Jeremy’s eyes lock on the movement of Michael’s Adam’s Apple as he swallows. Jeremy’s fingers brush the line of his throat slowly, sparking against his skin. Despite the all-consuming fire, Michael shivers and his heart winds tighter.

“I do know,” Michael tilts his head and Jeremy’s lashes flutter closed. “But that’s not enough anymore.  _ Say it _ .” His voice fails him and all he can do is make his mouth for the word ‘ _ please _ ’ against Jeremy’s _ . _

Jeremy exhales through parted lips, “ _ I love you _ .”

And there is no more distance left between them.

Michael’s back collides with Earth.

* * *

The following day, Michael says something about wanting a slushie (a normal occurrence, truly) and the next thing he knows, he’s standing with Jeremy in front of his car, watching the chaos—read: their friends—in front of 7/11.

Rich is jumping around like a maniac, screaming something about “short people rights” while Jake hides his cackles behind his hand. Jenna is showing something from her phone to Chloe while Christine is talking animatedly with an enraptured Brooke.

Michael’s chest lifts at the sight of his friends and lurches forward to go greet them. Jeremy meets him, gently tugging his sweater sleeve and biting his lip. Michael reaches out and loosens his fingers. “I thought I was the nervous one.”

Jeremy huffs, lithe hand gripping onto Michael’s. “You still are.”

“Whatever you say.”

Jeremy pouts and pokes his side. Michael jolts with a chuckle. “I have a  _ reason _ to be nervous.”

“So do I,” Michael nudges Jeremy’s shoulder gently. “I don’t want to make anything weird.”

“I don’t either,” Jeremy whispers.

Michael tugs on his hand, walking backwards as he reassures, “We’ll do it together. Come on.”

Hand in hand, they shuffle to their group.

Rich is the first to notice them, surprisingly. His erratic movements come to an abrupt halt and his face goes blank as he processes the sight of them. Michael’s heart bursts to life inside of his chest as a sudden bout of anxiety shoots through his veins.

Then Rich opens his mouth.

“Bro, I swear to god, if you’re trying to trick us I will not hesitate to shove you both on the end of a wind turbine and let you spin until you die.”

Michael snorts despite himself. Jeremy—clearly not nearly as entertained and face igniting like a raging inferno—gestures his free hand frantically. “We’re not! I promise.”

Rich narrows his eyes to slits. His gaze bounces between Michael, Jeremy, and down to their linked fingers, multiple times. After a particularly long stare at their faces, Rich breaks into the most shit-eating grin Michael has ever seen in his life. “Neither of you told me but I’ll let it slide this once. I’m happy for you guys.”

Michael breathes out a laugh, relief flushing through his body. “Thanks, man.”

Jeremy squeezes his hand and Michael turns his face to him. The smile he receives is all too sweet with sharp edges that tear an onslaught of  _ I told you so _ ’s right into his temple. Michael’s expression turns sheepish.

The rest of the group erupts into happy laughter and chatter, all directed towards Jeremy and Michael.

“Congrats! I knew you could do it, Jere!”

“I’m so happy for you guys!”

“Good going, bro.”

“The two of you are  _ so _ cute.”

Michael’s shoulders slouch in relief and his face stretches into the widest smile he can possibly manage. He knows he’s never been happier in his life.

“Alright, are we done ogling over Michael and Jeremy?” Chloe chirps. Her words are harsh but the teasing glint in her eyes is more support than either of them will ever need. “We look like that weird loitering group of teenagers just standing outside a gas station. It’s kinda weird.”

Jenna shrugs from her spot against the wall. “I don’t know. This is pretty new for all of us, let us have our moment to ‘ogle.’” She motions air quotes with a chuckle.

“Besides,” Christine reaches and throws her arm around Chloe. “We  _ are _ a group of loitering teenagers. Live a little!”

Brooke perks up and throws herself onto Christine. Chloe stumbles under the weight, letting out a short cry. “C’mon, Chlo! We’re young; we’re almost done with our senior year! Loosen uuuuuup.” Brooke shakes Christine’s arm dramatically as a round of laughter rings through the air.

Chloe sticks her tongue out but doesn’t try to shake the two girls off as she attempts to walk into the gas station. Christine catches Michael’s eye as they pass and gives him a not-so-secretive wink and a heart-warming grin.

A large hand claps Michael’s shoulder and he jolts. Jake’s chuckles reach his ears and Michael angles his head to see the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth. He half expects Jake to say something along the lines of ‘ _ congratulations’ _ again. However, Jake gives a whooping “It’s slushie time, bro!” that makes Michael’s ears ring at the sheer volume and immediately dashes out through the automatic doors towards the slushie machine.

Michael stares after him before turning to Rich. “Him?”

Rich lifts his arms in a half-assed shrug, an upturn to his lips. “Yeah. Him.”

Then he disappears as well.

It dawns on Michael as blinding as the sun that Jeremy hadn’t spoken in a while. He tugs Jeremy closer, leaning to get a better view of his face as he waves a hand in front of Jeremy’s dull eyes. “Hello? You in there, Jere?”

“Hm?” Jeremy hums, blinking owlishly. His eyes sharpen and refocus as they land on Michael’s.

Michael smooths his thumb over the back of Jeremy’s hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m…” He inhales for a few seconds. “I’m overthinking. About the future. Like, how we won’t always have these kinds of moments even though I want to.”

Michael nods. “Yeah. Yeah I get that.” They both look ahead as the warm winds whip at their hair and clothing.

Michael can’t say he’s never thought of that; it would be rather foolish for him not to. Being a high school senior is all about choosing. Choosing what to do after the set parameters have expanded, finding out who they are outside of the classroom, and becoming an independent being, all weigh on his mind. His back bends with the burden of expectations and adulthood. But…

Michael steps forward, Jeremy stumbling at the movement. “We can’t focus on that all the time. It’ll only stop us from living the rest of this moment to the fullest. I’m young and in love and I  _ really _ want a slushie. So…” He twirls and clasps Jeremy’s other hand as well. “Are you coming?”

Without missing a beat, Jeremy’s face breaks out into a beaming smile that makes Michael’s head spin. He gains his footing, pausing them in their trek briefly to touch their foreheads together. Then, softer than the batting of a butterfly’s wings, Jeremy brushes his lips against Michael’s. “Of course I am,” he murmurs with laughter bubbling from his throat.

Michael’s heart flops happily and he can hardly see from the way he’s grinning. “Good.”

They enter into the calming atmosphere of the shitty gas station without a single cloud to dim the light shining in Michael’s chest as he joins his friends.

* * *

Michael is  _ bursting _ , diving head first into an oblivion of shaded whites and mystery.

But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first draft didn't have that final kiss in it. Thank my editor for that one.  
I really hope you enjoyed it! I'm gonna kinda miss writing this but! I'm glad I got everything wrapped up.  
Have a wonderful day/evening <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :D


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